


Up Above the World So High

by Ananeiah



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ananeiah/pseuds/Ananeiah
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a young man who stumbled across a tower, found someone inside it, and fell in love.-A Rapunzel AU.





	Up Above the World So High

_ Once upon a time, there was a poor couple. This poor couple struggled every day to make ends meet, and worse, they had a son whom they loved very much and couldn’t bear to see go hungry. This boy didn’t know of his family’s troubles, for his parents kept it from him, often giving him their own meager portions so he could eat. As a result, he was a happy, beautiful child, clever and talented. He would sing, and his parents swore the birds would stop to listen. His bright smiles were his parents’ delight and solace. _

_ And then one day, during a particularly lean winter, an agent of the rulers of the land was passing through the village, and she too noticed this boy. With his bright smile, shining eyes, silver hair and lovely voice, he was hard to miss, and she knew he would make an excellent Singer. She spoke to his parents, demanding he be given into her care. His parents knew that someone of such stature could ensure he would never go hungry and would be kept in the best possible situation, so they agreed. The lady took the boy, giving the family some grain for their trouble, and took him to her castle, and from there to gruff old man who placed him a high tower. The old man told him it was to be his new home, and the young boy was so delighted with the view and the adventure that he did not realize he would never see his parents again. _

-

Yuuri was running away from his problems, and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from walking through the crowd, head down, trying to get away from it all and holding back tears. It only compounded his guilt making the tears rise hot and prickly behind his eyes and thick in his throat. The bustle of the marketplace wasn’t helping, either—too much noise and flashes of color in the corner of his eye, making him cringe every time something came too close.

_ Mom might send Mari out to look for me soon _ , he thought miserably.  _  She’ll figure out where I went. I should have at least brought a list of things for supplies needed at home. Now I have no excuse, and it’s even more obvious I’m a terrible son. _

“Excuse me, sir!” called out one of the shopkeepers with forced exuberance. “You, sir, with the black hair! Can I interest you in—”

Yuuri flinched away from the man’s notice and hurried away, gaining speed until he was almost running through the crowds, past the market stalls, only stopping when he realized the noise had faded. He looked up to find himself in a garden area, flowers blooming just as colorfully as the marketplace, but without the dizzying crowd.

Gulping air, Yuuri tried to calm himself down by meandering through one of the garden paths. He walked, thoughts reeling over this latest failure to do something as simple as basic human interaction, until he was stopped by a wall. He blinked at it, looking up. He realized it was actually a tower. He took in the impressive rose bush growing at the base, tendrils creeping up and twining through the bricks. The roses were in full bloom.

_ Blue roses _ , he thought.  _ Oh, no. That means this is _ —

“Yuuri! Yuuri, is that you? It is! Hello Yuuri!”

He looked up. There was Victor Nikiforov, waving down at him from a window in the tower. A few locks of his famous silver hair had escaped and were gently swaying with the force of his movements. He was beaming.

“V-Victor?! What—I don’t—You’re—How do you know my name?!”

Victor’s apparent delight turned to confusion. “Why, I saw you at last year’s Winter Concert. You performed a few pieces before mine.”

Yuuri couldn’t hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. Victor had seen him perform. Victor had watched him humiliate himself. Worse, he had humiliated himself so much that Victor remembered it a year later, knew him by name and face. He whimpered.

“—and then you came and plucked one of the roses and sang right here, dancing with the rose. Even drunk you were amazing! Afterwards you said you’d come back to visit, since beautiful flowers weren’t enough to keep me company. Yuuri? Are you alright?”

He hadn’t realized he’d been swaying until he fell into the rose bush and felt the thorns he hadn’t noticed before dig into his skin. He yelped.

Silence descended while he disentangled himself, hissing periodically when the cuts stung. When he was free, he shuffled awkwardly, and said, “Well, I’ll just go now. Sorry for disturbing you.” He turned away, ready to go home and face his problems there if it meant never having to acknowledge that the single most embarrassing moment of his life had been witnessed by Victor Nikiforov, the most famous Singer the land had ever had.

“Oh, are you leaving already?” Yuuri looked up at Victor, who was still smiling. He didn’t look especially happy—more like he wasn’t impressed. He was leaning on the window ledge, which was wide enough that he could brace his body on it. His head was tilted so that his hair fell from behind his shoulder to spill over the tower. He was smiling, yes, but it was a different smile. A distant one.

“I—I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” mumbled Yuuri as loudly as he dared, shuffling his feet. He was painfully aware of his red face, his body fat— _ which must be even more noticeable from above, so ugly, ugh _ —and his frumpy clothes covered in dirt from the bush.

“Hm. That’s disappointing; you only just got here. You  _ are _ going to come back, aren’t you?”

Yuuri looked up, shocked out of his discomfort. “You—you  _ want _ me to come back?”

“Of course! You promised you would come see me. I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d wait as long as a year, and only for five minutes, but—”

“What promise?” Victor stopped.

“You…don’t remember?” Yuuri didn’t say anything. “Last year, after the formal concert was over, you came here and told me you were going to sing for me. You sang beautifully! Lots of songs, and some of them I’d never even heard before. And then you promised you’d come visit me! If you don’t remember, why are you here?” He paused, silence heavy after his increasingly strident tone. “Oh. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to come see me at all—that’s why you’re already leaving.” He had pulled away from the window and started to retreat into the tower, leaving Yuuri standing at the base of the tower, dusted with rose bush leaves and scrambling to say the right thing. Victor, for some unknown reason, wanted to see him, had expected him to be here.

“I’ll come back!” he blurted. “I—I think need to leave now if I want to make it home before dark, actually, but I’ll come back. That is, if you want me to…” he trailed off. He took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t remember because, as you noticed, I was drunk—really drunk—but since I promised, here I am.”

Victor had stopped, but he still didn’t seem happy. “I’m hardly going to hold you to a promise you made while you were drunk.”

“I promise to come see you.” Victor blinked. “I’m sober right now, and I promise.” Yuuri looked at Victor straight in the eye as he swore. He watched as a smile dawned on his face, making him even more radiant.

“Really?” breathed Victor. Yuuri blushed a bit as he replayed what he said in his mind, but he nodded. He added, “I…I really do have to go now, but I’ll come back.”

“When?”

“Oh, um…I wouldn’t want to bother you too much—”

“Tomorrow?” Yuuri thought. Tomorrow he was supposed to help Mari beat and clean the sheets and clothes, something he knew could take hours. But Victor wanted to see him—

“Tomorrow,” he said.

As he began walking away, he had to look back at the tower periodically to reassure himself it wasn’t a dream. Every time he did, Victor was still in the window, watching him.

-

Yuuri found himself visiting Victor far more often than he would have thought possible, easily once every two weeks, sometimes more, and still Victor hadn’t gotten bored of him. At first, there was some lingering awkwardness—what could he possibly say that would keep Victor interested?—but it turned out Victor was happy with any topic. He would ask questions about anything and everything, and didn’t seem to notice if the topic was less than appropriate.

For instance, one day about two months into what Yuuri had realized was an actual friendship, not just Victor’s intense boredom, they had been discussing love songs. Without any other warning, Victor asked, without a hint of shame, “Yuuri? Have you had any lovers?”

Yuuri blushed and stammered. “Ah, that is—”

He managed to avoid answering and change topic, but his embarrassment remained the rest of the conversation.

And Yuuri had realized that Victor was always like that. He only had two ways of being: open and honest and very emotional (he cried when Yuuri told him that he was what had inspired him to start singing), or the same closed happiness Yuuri had seen at what he considered their first meeting. He saw it less and less as time went on, but sometimes Victor seemed shut himself off with a smile.

One day, when he has feeling unusually brave, he asked about it. Victor stilled, then sighed and said, “Well, it’s my duty, you know? I’m here to sing. A face for the nation, a light to look on, the one who sings us our victory and pride and honor. I can’t look as though I’d rather be doing anything else, even if it’s true. I’m here to be happy and beautiful and inspiring.” He shrugged, and began playing with a lock of his hair, not looking at Yuuri. “It’s all I know how to do, really. Stand at my window and smile and sing.”

Yuuri was quiet. What could he possibly say to that? Anything he could say would sound like pity or condescension or something equally awful.

A few moments passed, then Victor gave what Yuuri realized had to be a fake laugh to accompany his fake smile and said, “Now you know the truth! I’m very boring, really. No substance at—”

“Do you have a favorite song?” Yuuri interrupted. Victor blinked. “Yes, it’s—”

“You have preferences, you must have substance. You’re a person, Victor, not just a statue to stand at the tower to sing for the people.” Victor blinked again and grinned, a helpless smile radically different than the one he had given a moment ago.

“Don’t you want to know what it is? My favorite song?” he asked, almost coy. Yuuri nodded. “It changes all the time. Usually whatever I am working on is my favorite, but some of the ones I love the most are Stammi Vicino and The Lilac Fairy.”

“I’ll sing them for you,” answered Yuuri on instinct. He blushed when he realized what he said, and hastened to say, “That is, I’m sure your voice is better, and probably you don’t want me to ruin your favorite songs, but—”

“Yuuri! No one ever sings for me! I’d love to hear it, you must!”

He nodded his head yes, speechless. “I…that is…” Victor took pity on him and changed the topic.

-

Yuuri knew he was being foolish, knew that Victor would be happy, or at least not cruel, so long as he sang alright, but he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to impress Victor, wanted Victor to smile at him and draw out his name the way he did was when he was excited and to say he was amazing. He also knew that Victor did this all the time, that this is what he was trained for, and that the likelihood of him being impressed by anything Yuuri could do was fairly small. Torn between the two feelings, he practiced long into the night, and when his family bid him goodnight and went to sleep, he went out by their nearby hotspring and continued to practice. He sang until his throat was sore and the tips of his fingers smarted from plucking at the strings of the biwa. He knew he should just go to sleep, but he couldn’t—he was too wound up. He lay back and covered his face with his hands. He was going to be horrible, and Victor was going to look at him with pity and say something cruel and blunt—or worse, condescending and kind—and then he would ever be able to look him in the eye again.  _ That will ruin our visits. What was I thinking. I’m so stupid, I’ve ruined everything. _

His panic cut off at the sound of some fallen leaves crunching, settling into an unnatural stillness. He looked up. It was Mari, leaning against a tree. He relaxed, but didn’t say anything. The silence stretched.

“Been a while since you’ve sung anything,” she said eventually, voice neutral. He kept quiet. ”I’m glad. I was worried for a while, but you seem to have figured it out.”

He shook his head. “Not really. I don’t know what I’m doing, Mari.”

She exhaled. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He started plucking idly at the strings to fill the quiet. “Will you play something for me?”

He look at her, surprised. It wasn’t that she wasn’t supportive—she was, always had been. It was more that she had never really taken an interest.

“Sure, I—”

“How about Lohengrin?”

After a moment, he started playing. Lohengrin felt bittersweet to him now. He had been so proud of it, his first mostly original piece. Now that he was older, he noticed the awkward transitions, the areas he had meant as homage that had turned out more like watery imitation, but it still reminded him of how happy he’d been when he finished it.

The song tapered off, and they sat together for a while. Eventually, Mari gently punched his arm and walked back in, calling over her shoulder, “Go to bed at a reasonable hour, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

Yuuri smiled and went back to practicing.

-

When he woke up in the morning, he was considerably calmer than he had expected to be. He got up, and did his morning chores. He toyed with the idea of changing into something nicer, but ultimately decided not to. Either Victor would be impressed, or he wouldn’t be, and the clothes he wore wouldn’t change that.

Early in the afternoon, though, when he had started walking towards the tower, he wished he had changed into something at least cleaner. It was warm, and he was starting to sweat. In his state, the buzz of the market was too much, and he practically had to run through it again.

But when he made it to the garden, even though he tried to stop and catch his breath, his feet hurried toward Victor. Victor, who was waiting for him at the window, smiling and waving. He had dressed up, or at least so Yuuri assumed, given the gems glinting at his throat and flashing in in his hair. Yuuri felt himself become lighter. It would be fine. Victor believed he could do this, and right now that was what mattered.

He made it to the rose bush at the base of the tower and looked up at Victor. Despite the distance, catching Victor’s eyes made him feel like they were so close they were touching.

He stepped back just enough so that his neck wasn’t craned upwards and started to sing.

When he was finished, he opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember closing them, and looked at Victor. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like maybe he was crying.

Victor was the one to break the silence. “Yuuri,” he breathed, “that was beautiful. The way you make music…” Yuuri, still caught up in the song and the way Victor said his name, only nodded. “What else do you know? I want to hear all of it!”

-

So passed the days. Yuuri visited Victor even more often, coming at least once or twice a week, sitting at the base of the tower and looking up. Sometimes he sang. Sometimes, more rarely, Victor sang, though he was always careful to sing softly, and Yuuri almost had to strain to hear him. Sometimes, they would just talk, for hours at a time, or sit in silence, just looking at one another. Yuuri played some of his favorite pieces for Victor, singing along if the piece had a vocal component, and always played anything Victor asked for. Victor was always delighted, though it never stopped him from critiquing Yuuri or giving him advice on how to improve.

-

The song Yuuri was playing was one Victor had requested specifically. It was almost a lullaby, meant to be soft and sweet and delicate. Which meant that, if he was playing properly, Victor couldn’t hear it. And when Yuuri tried to play it louder, both he and Victor agreed something was off—his biwa wasn’t up to that volume, for starters. When he tried singing it, he strained his voice and broke off coughing.

“I’m sorry, Victor,” he said, rubbing his throat. “I don’t think I can play this for you, not from here. What if I—”

“Yuuri! I know!” Yuuri looked up at Victor, who was gripping the window ledge with excitement. “Why don’t you come up here!”

He felt his eyes widen, and he nodded, even as his heart started to pound double time in his chest. Closer to Victor—how could he possibly say no?

Victor, meanwhile, was coiling something up and chattering. “This will be wonderful, we’ll be able to talk without shouting—it’s not good for our voices, and anyway, we’ll be able to really see each other! I’ve been hoping—well, anyway, here you are!” And with that, he wound a coiled, braided rope of his hair around a peg in the window ledge and let it fall down the side of the tower. He had to bend his head to ensure it was long enough, curling over the window ledge.

Yuuri stared. “What am I supposed to do with…?”

“Climb it, of course!”

“ _ What _ ?!”

Victor shifted a bit to look at him, clearly uncomfortable with the crouch he was in. “Well how else are you supposed to get up here?”

“A door!”

“There was one, but the Singer or two before me apparently skirted her duty by escaping and running away, so for the next one, they prevent that by blocking up the doors,” said Victor matter-of-factly.

Yuuri stared at him, aghast. “You mean you can’t leave?” He had wondered before why Victor didn’t come down, why no one had ever seen him in the market or heard him practicing, but he hadn’t expected something as awful as this. “Victor…” he trailed off, helpless.

Victor just looked at him, though, and stayed with his head bent toward the peg. The rope of his hair swayed in the breeze. “So are you going to come up?” he asked, as though he didn’t understand what the problem was. “It’s not that hard, I promise. Even Yakov can do it, and he’s old.”

“No.” he said. Victor started, and hissed when the jolt meant the peg tugged at his hair. He looked betrayed.

“You’re not coming up?”

His face went blank a moment, then unwound his hair from the peg. When he stood up, he was wearing the smile that Yuuri hadn’t seen since they started playing together, the one that was clearly meant for a public audience and meant nothing.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, speaking as clearly as he could, “I am not going to use your hair as a rope. It looks painful, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Victor only shook his head. “There is no other way up, and anyway it’s not that bad, you have to—”

“Victor.” He waited until Victor was looking at him in the eye. “I am not going to climb your hair. I’ll find some other way up.”

And Victor, looking awestruck, only nodded.

-

That night, Yuuri practically tore apart his room looking for something that would help him climb to Victor. Fui-chan nosed at him in excitement, her tail wagging, and she pawed through his things too, thinking it was some new game, but he didn’t find anything sturdy enough.

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

He jumped, then turned to his mother. Fui-chan went up to her to ask for scratches before coming back to sit right in the middle of the pile Yuuri was trying to organize. He started to pet her while he thought how to explain.

“Is it about your Vicchan?” she asked before he could find the words to start. He paused, then said, “How did you know?”

“You always look like that when it’s about him. Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

And he found himself spilling everything to her, how Victor didn’t leave the tower because he couldn’t, how apparently the only way to get in or out was to climb Victor’s hair, how he needed to figure out some other way up but couldn’t find anything.

Predictably, his mother was horrified. “How does that poor boy get food and water?!” He blinked, horrorstruck, and shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even—”

His mother got up and strode to the kitchen, calling “Toshiya! Toshiya, can you help Yuuri find some sturdy rope? I need to pack poor Vicchan some food.” Yuuri followed behind her, hovering as she began fretting over what to pack. His father met them in the kitchen, asking what was going on. Yuuri opened his mouth to answer, but his mother beat him to it.

“Yuuri’s Vicchan can’t leave the tower, and the only way in or out is to climb his hair,” she said, much more succinctly than Yuuri could have managed.

Toshiya blinked, then frowned. He gestured for Yuuri to follow him, and they ended up in the storage space, where they kept extra tatami and off-season clothes, and where Fui-chan lay resting in the warmth. Together, they started searching for rope sturdy enough to climb the tower. Eventually, they found a coil of rope that was about as thick as Yuri’s wrist that, despite its apparent age, looked as though it would bear his weight without breaking.

“Is it long enough?” asked Mari from where she stood in the doorway. Yuuri shrugged. She rolled her eyes and said, “Come on We should check beforehand, otherwise we’ll just have to tear the house apart again.” The three of them went outside and unwound the rope. “Well? Is it long enough?”

Yuuri thought, picturing the tower, trying to determine the distance from the rose bush to Victor’s window. “I…think so,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I should be able to make it to the window.” Mari nodded, and they went inside, where Hiroko had packed what seemed to be all the available food in a basket and she promptly thrust it at Yuuri.

“Give this to him, alright? And while you’re there, look around and let me know if he needs more—I can always send it with you, you go practically every day.” She fluttered about the kitchen, neatly putting away everything she had pulled out.

Yuuri stood in the kitchen, clutching the basket and the rope, slightly bewildered. His father put a hand on his shoulder. Let us know if the rope doesn’t work. We’ll figure something else out.” He waited for Yuuri to nod his understanding before walking out. His mother turned to him. “Make sure Vicchan eats, alright? And don’t worry. I’m sure everything will turn out fine.” And with that, she too bustled out.

Yuuri didn’t know what he’d done to deserve his family’s overwhelming support, but he took the moment to bask in it, noting to himself he would have to do them proud.

-

The next morning he rushed through his duties, just shy of haphazard. His parents and Mari noticed, but none of them tried to stop him, though Mari did roll her eyes at him more than once. As soon as he could pretend it was reasonable, he changed into clothing he thought might be easier to climb in, grabbed the food and the rope, and rushed off. His mother called out to him, “Do your best, Yuuri!”

He hurried as fast as he could to toward the market, nervous, but differently than before. What if the rope was too short? What if he was too weak to pull himself up? He had to climb the tower. He had to. He shook his head, frustrated. Of course he was too weak to climb up. What was he thinking? He was thinking Victor had invited him. But maybe Victor was just being polite, there was no—

He stopped. The road was empty, but he stood by the side to calm down. Victor wanted to see him; he had said so repeatedly. And Victor was many things, but polite was rarely one of them. He wouldn’t have asked Yuuri to come up if he didn’t mean it, and he definitely wouldn’t have offered his own hair for Yuuri to climb.

So. Victor wanted him there. That was enough. If the rope was too short, he’d find some other way up. He took a breath, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and kept going.

He was passing through the market when he saw them. A boy with pale blond hair and a scowl fierce enough to frighten monsters was selling, of all things, flowers.  _ No, _ he thought.  _ I couldn’t, it’s too impractical. How am I going to carry them up? _ But his feet moved towards the boy selling them anyway.

The boy, if anything, scowled harder. Yuuri hesitated.

“Well,” snarled the boy. “What do you want?”

“Oh, um—I was—that is—”

“Ugh, either spit it out or go away.” He was practically hissing. Yuuri couldn’t remember being that angry ever, even at his age.

“Yura,” chided an old man coming away from another customer. “Be polite to customers, yes?” Yura grumbled, but asked, “What can I help you with?” in a much more subdued tone.

Yuuri thought. Victor already had roses, since they grew at the base of the tower. He was pretty sure, the song for the festival had ended with him wearing a crown of roses, too. Yuuri wanted to bring him something new, something to surprise him. He looked over the flowers, and pointed at a bunch of small, delicate-looking purple blossoms clustered together.

“That one. Five of those, please.” Yura’s lip curled a bit, but he didn’t say anything other than, “That will be three ruyen,” as he gathered them up and bound them with a ribbon. Yuuri took them awkwardly. Belatedly, it occurred to him that if he put them in his pack with the rope and the food, they would be crushed. Yura was still glaring at him over a pot of red flowers blazing open. He turned to go, discomfited.

Yura spoke. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but whatever it is, it’s not going to work.” Yuuri turned back to face him.

“Pardon?”

“With Victor. It’s not going to work. I’ve heard you, both of you. You’re outclassed.”

“You’ve heard us? Wait—you know Victor?”

Yura snarled again before twisting his face into a more neutral expression, or as close as he could get. “Of course I know Victor. Everyone knows Victor. Or did you think you were special somehow?”

“No, I meant—” Yuuri cut himself off. He didn’t know what he meant. He only knew that the Victor that sang songs for the crowds two or three times a year was not the same Victor who asked whether dogs were as wonderful as they seemed when he found out Yuuri had one, the Victor who smiled at Yuuri when he saw him, who was so honest with his emotions. He switched tracks.

“You’ve heard me sing?”

Yura scowled, though less than before. “Yeah. You’re not awful, I guess, but you’re no Victor. He’s a world above you, and anyway, he doesn’t care about the people down here. It’s why he makes promises and forgets them, why he’ll never leave his damn tower to be with the people. So whatever it is you’re planning, or whatever you think you’re going to get out of him, you’re wrong.”

And with that, he walked away, supposedly to help another customer but more likely to judge their taste and life choices, leaving Yuuri with his flowers and a fair amount of confusion.

He started off again towards the tower, having lost some of his motivation. At the edge of the market he stopped to think again.

Yura knew Victor, or at least claimed to, but not like Yuuri did. Victor was admittedly more forgetful than Yuuri, but he had never broken a promise to Yuuri. In fact, he seemed to take the idea of broken promises very seriously. And Victor had made it clear that he was expected to have a public face that everyone knew, one that was not the same as the one he shared with Yuuri.

_ And really _ , he thought,  _ none of that mattered _ . What mattered was that Victor had invited him up, and that he wanted to go to Victor, to meet him where he was, even if that was a world above him, because Victor made him happy.

He raised his head up and continued walking to the garden and the tower.

Victor was, of course, waiting for him. Yuuri felt a pang as he realized it was probably because he had nothing better to do. He squashed it.

“YuurI!” Victor called down. “What’s the plan?”

Yuuri looked at him and smiled helplessly. Even if for Victor he was just a way of avoiding boredom he’d come back, because he wanted Victor to be happy.

He put the flowers down carefully and took the rope from his pack. As he uncoiled it, he called, “I’ll swing the rope up to the window. Can you tie it to something? Something sturdy?”

Victor nodded. “Of course! Anything you need, Yuuri.” He settled back in the window to wait for the rope, focusing.

When the rope was unwound, he hefted up one end and swung it around a few times to test the weight, then flung it to the window.

It missed by a good few feet, the end of it drooping before it even reached its peak. He scowled a bit.

“Try again, Yuuri!” called Victor, largely unnecessarily. He swung it up again, letting the end gain speed before he let go.

It made it up to the window before it started to fall. Victor lunged for it, nearly falling out of the window in his haste. When he stabilized himself, he held up the end he had caught proudly. “I got it!” He started it tying it to the peg he had wrapped his hair around. “This should be sturdy enough. Now what? Should I pull you up?”

Yuuri shook his head. “No, I’ll climb up—it will be easier, and anyway, I don’t want you to fall.” Victor nodded. Yuuri resettled the pack on his shoulders, picked up the flowers and clamped them gently between his teeth, and started to climb.

It wasn’t easy. The rope was rough between his hands, and it wasn’t long before his shoulders were tired. Holding the flowers with his teeth felt awkward. He was worried, in a distracted way, that they would be mangled by the time he got to the top.

He kept going.  He would go to Victor, since Victor couldn’t come to him.

A sudden, unfortunately timed gust of wind made the rope sway. He squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for the wind to subside, heart pounding. He kept climbing. Somewhere above him, Victor whistled.

_ Just a bit more _ , he repeated over and over.  _ Just until I reach the window. _ The tower couldn’t possibly be as tall as it felt.

“Almost there, Yuuri!” He started, but kept his grip. “You can do it!”

A few more pulls, and there was the ledge. He gripped it carefully with one hand, then two, then heaved himself into the tower, landing in a heap flowers and pack all around him.

He looked up, and there was Victor, beaming.

Yuuri realized he had landed on Victor’s hair, which fell in a waterfall to the floor and dragged a fair ways around him. He scrambled off, awkward and embarrassed.

“I—I brought you flowers…” he said, holding up. Victor’s eyes watered, but he kept smiling as he took them from his hand and buried his face in them. “Thank you,” he said, voice muffled. “They’re lovely.” He raised his head.

Yuuri tried to say something gracious or sweet, except now that he could see Victor clearly, he was dumbstruck. He’d known Victor was handsome, but now… Now he could see the line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. Now he could see the exact shade of his eyes, and that his eyelashes were the same shade of silver as his hair, feathering over defined cheekbones.

Victor was extraordinarily beautiful.

Yuuri flushed, suddenly aware of the sweat from the climb and the roundness of his body.

But Victor didn’t even seem to notice, bouncing away to put the flowers in a container, babbling about how pretty they were and wondering how long they would last.

“They’ll last longer if you put water in there with the stems.”

Victor blinked, as though this was new to him (and maybe it was, Yuuri realized. Maybe he’d never had flowers before) and sighed sadly. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked, suddenly worried.

“I don’t really have any water to spare,” he said forlornly. “I only have so much—it’s hard to get up here—so mostly I use it to drink. And bathe…” He trailed off. “Maybe just a little bit…”

“Victor, no!” Victor turned back to look at him, head tilted. “You can’t use your drinking water for this. You’re more important than the flowers.” He was horrified—it hadn’t even occurred to him. Again.

Victor didn’t seem to mind, though. He shrugged and left the flowers in the container he had selected.

“That reminds me—I brought food. That my mother made. I mean, I was telling her, and she was worried, and she thought maybe—anyway, it’s nothing fancy, just—”

“You told your mother about me?” Victor was delighted.

He nodded as he unpacked the food on a small table towards a wall. “My entire family,” he said as he laid out the plate of onigiri. Victor watched in silent fascination.

“Um. Please go ahead.” He gestured vaguely at it.

“What is it?” asked Victor as he picked up one of the onigiri,

“It’s onigiri—um, rice balls with filling. I think my mother used pickled plum…” It occurred to Yuuri that he really wanted Victor to like it. What if he didn’t? What if he thought it was disgusting? He fretted as he watched Victor pop it into his mouth.

Victor’s eyes widened. “It’s delicious!” He went back for more, eager. Yuuri relaxed and watched contentedly as he finished the plate.

Victor sat back, smiling. “Your mother is an amazing cook! Will you thank her for me?”

Yuuri nodded, pleased. “She’ll be happy to hear it.” 

He got up from the table and all but flounced to the bed on the other side of the room, collapsing into it. His hair trailed behind him.

“Yuuri,” he said, voice bordering on what could only be called a playful whine. “Now that you’re here, you should sing for me!”

He settled into the chair Victor had vacated. “Is there a song you want to hear?”

Victor looked at him from under his lashes. “Will you sing Eros and Agape for me?”

Yuuri nodded, and reach for his biwa. He blinked as he realized he hadn’t brought it. “I forgot my biwa,” he said blankly.

Victor seemed to think that was funny, but all he said was, “That’s alright. You have a lovely voice; I’m sure you’ll be able to do it justice.”

Yuuri blushed, took a moment to calm himself, and started. It was easier from here, not having to project very far. He could really emphasize the dynamics of the song, which in his opinion was part of the draw of the song, forcing the listener to follow the melody with more care. Love wasn’t meant to be sung in one volume.

He finished the piece and looked at Victor. His eyes were closed, and a soft smile played on his lips. “Beautiful,” he murmured, opening his eyes, smiling warmly at Yuuri.

“Would you…would you sing for me too?” he asked.

“Oh?”

“That is, if you want to, I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything. In fact, never mind, is there something else you want to hear from me? Or I could—”

“Yuuri,” interrupted Victor kindly, “I…I would be happy to sing for you.” He looked a bit surprised as he said it. It didn’t help to reassure Yuuri.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to think that’s why I’m here, and I know you think—that is, I would be here anyway, and—”

“I want to sing for you.”

Yuuri could feel the blood rush to his face and pound in his ears. He tried to control himself. It didn’t work.

“What do you want to hear?” asked Victor, who was rather chipper all of a sudden.

“Anything is fine,” whispered Yuuri.

Victor began to sing, and the world fell away. It always did, when he listened to Victor did, but this felt different, knowing it was just for him. He listened, rapt as Victor’s voice rose and fell. When he finished, Yuuri let out a soft “Oh,” feeling breathless.

They looked at each other in silence. Yuuri believed with all his heart he had never been this connected to another person.

Something flashed out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look.

“Oh!” he said again, this time in surprise. The sun was setting. “I have to go, it will be dark soon. I live too far from here to travel safely back into the dark…” Victor’s face fell but he nodded. Yuuri quickly gathered up the pack of onigiri and put them back in his pack, which he had left by the window. He stood by the ledge, then glanced at Victor.

“Is…is it alright if I come again?”

Victor brightened. “Really? I mean, yes, of course, you are always welcome.” Yuuri grinned at him, feeling yet another flush settle in his ears and along his cheeks. He swung one leg over the ledge, gripping the rope. “Ah, that’s um, very kind of you.” He took a breath, and started climbing down. It was much less nerve-wracking than going up had been.

When he reached the bottom, Victor called, “Should I untie this?”

Yuuri looked back up at him.  _ How did I ever manage being so far away this whole time? _ “Don’t bother,” he half-shouted back. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Victor beamed as he pulled the rope back up.

“See you then, Yuuri! Travel safe!”

When he got home, he told his mother Victor had said thank you and that he thought it was delicious. She pinked a bit and grinned, and asked him how it went. He fell silent, uncertain how to explain.

She smiled. “Oh, Yuuri! I’m so happy for you!” exactly as she had to Yuuko and Takashi when they announced they were getting married.

Yuuri didn’t question that and didn’t correct her.

-

He visited Victor every day now, and wondered how they had lasted before, only seeing him once or twice a week. Every time he left it felt too soon, and even every day didn’t seem to be often enough.

They sang and spoke and sang some more, though Victor had explained he couldn’t be too loud when they did.

“Yakov says that the people shouldn’t be able to hear me when I practice. He says that the image I present is supposed to appear effortless, and if people hear me practicing they’ll know that it’s not. Also, he says the whole point is that when I sing it’s a special occasion to the people, so if they hear me too often they won’t care anymore.”

Yuuri wasn’t certain he agreed—he heard Victor sing all the time, and it always felt stunning—but didn’t argue the point, and was distracted enough that he forgot to ask who Yakov was.

-

Sometimes they sang duets, and those were some of the best times for Yuuri. One song Yuuri loved particularly, Stammi Vicino. It reminded him of the first time he heard Victor sing, and the first time he picked up a biwa, Minako showing him how to pluck the strings ever so carefully while Mari and his mother listened. It was a song for nostalgia.

Victor seemed to like it too, harmonizing with Yuuri where the two parts met, diverged, and returned.

And at night, Yuuri lay in his bed at home, heart hammering with happiness as he remembered.

-

One day, Yuuri and Victor were sitting together, discussing the merits of a song they had both heard of. Victor’s hair was everywhere, winding on the floor, to the bed, over Yuuri’s lap. Victor spoke with wild gestures that flung his hair around when he was excited, a stark contrast to how still he was when focused. He was excited now, derailing from the song into Yuuri’s latest moderation to Eros and Agape. He seemed to love that song, asking for it at least every few days and never tiring of it.

And Yuuri couldn’t contain himself anymore. “Victor,” he said. “I—I can’t—just listen, alright?” he cradled his biwa and started to play the song he’d been working on for months, since he climbed the tower. It was the song that rang in his head when he first met Victor. It was the melody that had haunted his thoughts since he had first began singing for himself, constantly playing in the back of his mind. It was about Victor, for Victor, a wordless piece that said all the things he would never have been able to explain in a conversation. When he finished, he felt breathless. He looked up at Victor, who was wide-eyed with shock.

“I…I wrote you a song.” Woefully inadequate, but that was all he had.

And then Victor was kissing him, and he blanked out.

And then Victor wasn’t kissing him anymore, was pulling back to say, “That was the only thing I could think of to surprise you the way that you surprised me.” Yuuri was pretty sure he was the one who was wide-eyed now. “Did I do it right? I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Oh. Um. Yes. You did it right. Consider me surprised. Um.” Victor looked uncertain, almost worried.

“Victor…um…” He took a breath. “Surprise me again?”

-

Things settled after that. They continued to talk and sing, but sometimes they would just sit together in silence, Yuuri running his hands through Victor’s hair. Occasionally they would fall asleep together, waking up hours later to find that Yuuri had to leave if he wanted to get home before dark.

Leaving got progressively harder. There were things he wanted to show Victor, like the hot springs near his home and the mountains that overlooked the forest. He wanted to give Victor fresh katsudon—he was pretty sure he would love it. Victor had never met a dog, and that seemed like a tragedy in itself. Ultimately, though, the hardest part was leaving Victor at all, leaving him alone in the tower for the night until he could come back. He was even fairly certain that Victor agreed with him, given the way he kissed him hello and goodbye, as though he thought Yuuri needed the reminder to return. But neither of them ever said anything about it.

-

And then one day, it was ruined.

-

They were lying together in silence, legs entangled and holding each other.

And then a gruff voice called from below, “Vitya! Let down your hair.”

Victor bolted upright, looking panicked. “Is—is everything alright?” asked Yuuri quietly, now worried himself. Victor was gathering up his hair and braiding it, faster than Yuuri had ever seen.

“Not really,” he answered. He turned to the window and called. “Just a moment, Yakov! I’m—I need to braid my hair!” He dashed back, fingers still flying. “So. Um. I’m—not really supposed to have people up here. Yakov says it will ruin my image.”

“Like letting the townspeople hear you practicing?” asked Yuuri, now just shy of full-blown panic himself.

“Mm-hmm. Do you think—there isn’t really anywhere to hide in here, is there. Damn. This…is probably not going to go well. Just remember, I love you, alright?” And with that, he tied off his braid, crouched by the window to wind it around the peg, and tossed it out for Yakov to climb.

Yuuri sat awkwardly, scared and upset and unable to do anything about it. He wondered how strong Yakov was—he did this regularly, from the sound of it, but a longer climb might help him find a way to solve this.

After what seemed much too soon—surely he couldn’t climb the tower that fast, and he did it every day—Yakov, who turned out to be an elderly man, was up through the window. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was Yuuri.

Belatedly, it occurred to Yuuri that maybe he should have stood up from the bed.  _ At least I’m wearing clothes _ , thought Yuuri, just shy of hysteria. He got up.

After a beat, Victor said, voice high with nerves, “Yakov, this is Yuuri. Yuuri, this is Yakov. He brings me food and water, and new music sometimes.”

Yakov didn’t say anything, but his face grew pale, then red. Then he spoke. “Victor. What have you done?” Even without raising his voice, it was clear he was furious. He rounded on Victor, spittle flying. “You foolish boy, what have you done?!” Victor said nothing, eyes wide. He took a step back.

Yuuri stepped forward to intercept, placing himself between them.

“Ah, sir—” Yakov looked at him, and he swallowed. “I’m—I know this isn’t the best way we could have met, but I swear I’m not taking advantage of him. I—I love him.”

To his horror, Yakov snarled. “You love him? So what! Everyone loves him. That is his duty—to be looked upon and be beloved! No, your feelings, your love, such as it is, is worse than meaningless in this.” He turned back to Victor, adding, “Go find yourself a pretty peasant boy. Victor is not for you.”

Yuuri felt like he’d been stabbed, like the air had deserted his lungs, like the tower was falling down around him. He lurched forward and reached out for Yakov’s arm. “Yakov—”

It was a mistake. With a roar, Yakov shook him off, flinging out his arm in a wild gesture of anger. It hit him, and he lost balance. He didn’t realize he’d been so close to the window, so the last things he heard were Victor’s voice crying out his name and a crunching noise as he slammed into the ground.

-

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was pain.  His head ached and throbbed. So did his back. His skin stung, seemingly everywhere, and felt tight. He groaned a bit and opened his eyes.

He yelped as he realized he couldn’t see.

“Hm? Oh, you’re awake! I’m impressed! One moment, I’ll get a light.”

He closed his eyes as he waited. It was less disconcerting that way. Footsteps faded then got louder as the speaker returned. He opened his eyes. Everything was badly blurred, but even the shapes weren’t familiar. Neither was the speaker’s voice.

“Where—” He coughed a bit. His lungs hurt, and his voice was raspy. “Where am I?”

“You’re at my home. Since I bet your next question is going to be something like ‘who are you?’ I’m Phichit. These are some nasty scratches, by the way. What happened?” The blob that was speaking moved closer.

“I—I don’t—how did I get here?”

“Yuri brought you.”

“Who…?”

“Yuri. Blond, usually angry, sells flowers with his grandfather. He says he found you at the base of Victor Nikiforov’s tower, feet sticking out if the rose bushes.”

“Yuri…oh, Yura.”

Phichit snickered. “Don’t let him hear you call him that when he comes back,” he warned. “He’ll probably finish the job. Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question about what happened, by the way. It’s fine for now, though. You’re not going anywhere for a bit, so we can discuss it later.”

Yuuri’s head was swimming, both from the pain and the force of Phichit’s personality. More immediately, though—“Why can’t I see?”

Phichit’s voice sharpened. “Can’t see?”

“Everything is blurry, and dark around the edges.” Phichit hummed a bit, clearly concerned, and just as clearly not wanting to let Yuuri know. Yuuri wondered if he should explained there was no way Phichit as more worried than he was. He decided it would take too much energy.

“Hm. I had wondered. Well, we’ll see how things go over the next few days. For now, don’t worry about it for right now. Focus on resting and healing. The rest can wait—though I won’t lie, I really,  _ really _ want to know what happened. But for now, the main question is how are you feeling?” He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Days? I—I have to go, I need check on Victor. I need to let me family know what happened!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not going anywhere for a bit. Whatever happened, you’re covered in some nasty scratches, and you just told me you can’t see. You’re in no shape to be gallivanting off.”

“But—”

He relented. “Look, I can see if Yuri would be willing to take a message to your family. But you’re not well enough to sit up straight. If you tried traveling, you wouldn’t make it to the street before collapsing. Rest. We’ll see how you feel in a few days.” He got up. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it will turn out fine. Go to sleep, alright? We can talk about it in the morning.”

-

Over the next few days, Yuuri discovered two things. The first was that Phichit was fantastic. He was funny, warm, and smart. The second was that he had a very low tolerance for any attempt at escape. Yuuri was pretty sure if they had met under other circumstances, they would have been wonderful friends.

On the second day of his convalescence, Phichit managed to pry the story from Yuuri, under the guise of testing his memory to ensure it wasn’t damaged from the fall. Yuuri chuckled at the blatant ploy, but did explain, falling into a lower mood as he did. When he was done, Phichit whistled, and promptly summoned Yuri to go check on Victor and tell him where Yuuri was.

Yuri had come back scowling. “He’s not there.”

Yuuri turned to him. “What?”

“Are you deaf  _ and _ blind? The tower’s empty. He’s not there, so I couldn’t pass on your stupid message.”

“That’s not possible. That’s not—” his throat closed up, and his eyes burned. He heard Phichit thank Yuri from a distance, heard Yuri stomp out.

Phichit rubbed his back while he cried for the rest of the evening, knowing he would never see Victor again, and told him it would be alright, that he would certainly find Victor.

The next afternoon, Phichit said, “I expect you to come visit once you’ve recovered and found Victor.”

Yuuri blinked. “Ah?” He still couldn’t see clearly, but he was pretty sure Phichit was standing off to the side of the bed and fiddling with something. Phichit continued, “You’ll find him. I’m sure of it. And after, I expect you to come and visit! Now then,” he said, tone abruptly changing as he came to sit by Yuuri. “Hold this up to your eyes.” It was clearly a command, and he handed something to him. Yuuri did as instructed, bewildered, and peered through it. He gasped.

“Can you see better through it?”

“Yes! How did—”

Phichit interrupted. “What about these?” they repeated the process a few more times, Yuuri growing increasingly confused. Eventually Phichit left, humming with something like satisfaction. Yuuri was left staring after him, having never gotten an explanation.

While he was gone, Yuuri mulled over what he had said. Finding Victor. It seemed too simple when he just said it like that. At the same time, now that the initial shock of it had passed, Yuuri refused to accept the possibility that he would never see Victor again. Phichit was right—he could go look for him. It might—no, it would almost certainly take a while, but he could do it.

_ You would be abandoning your family, chasing something you might never find _ , a voice in his head pointed out. He bit his lip. He needed to find Victor, but how could he just leave his family like that? Especially after all they had done to support him? Round and round he went, until he was frustrated to the point of tears.

Just then, Phichit came back, radiating smug pleasure. “Yuuri!” he cried, “I am a genius! Here, try these.” And he slipped something onto his face, resting on the bridge of his nose.

Yuuri blinked and adjusted. “Oh,” he breathed. “I—I can see!” He turned to Phichit, who was grinning. “How?”

“Aren’t they amazing? They’re called glasses. Another of my customers was telling me about them a while back, so Otabek and I—Otabek is the glazer, do you know him?—thought we might experiment, maybe expand what we can sell. Didn’t think we’d get a chance so soon! What’re they like?”

“Everything is clear!” he said, pushing the glasses up his nose a bit and looking around the room. Phichit nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. Now you’ll be able to see where you’re going when you go look for Victor.”

Looking at Phichit’s face, which he could see clearly for the first time, Yuuri was reminded—none of his family had seemed upset that he left every day to see Victor. They all supported him since he met Victor, even before. Mari helped him calm down, his father asked him about his handsome young man, his mother regularly gave him food “for Vicchan.” They support him, and they wanted him to be happy.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, determined. “I have to be able to see to find Victor.”

-

Phichit ended up making Yuuri stay another few days before he felt comfortable letting him out, and even then, he insisted that Yuri accompany him. Yuuri honestly wasn’t sure how he’d convinced the boy to do so. He only knew that the morning of, Yuri was there, scowling at everyone and saying, “Well? Come on already!”

Before they left, Phichit pressed some wrapped sticky rice and meat into Yuuri’s hands and said, “Go slowly, alright? I know you want to find him, but you really shouldn’t tax yourself. Yura,” he said, ignoring the hiss of outrage from his audience, “Make sure he doesn’t kill himself by trying to do too much. After all,” he said with a wink at Yuuri, “I expect you to come back!”

After a few more goodbyes, including profuse thanks from Yuuri that Phichit waved off, they left. They walked mostly in silence until they made it to the edge of the town.

Suddenly, Yuri spoke. “Do you even have a plan?”

Startled, Yuuri let out a breath. Yuri took that as a denial. He scoffed and said, “Do you have a  _ map _ ?”

Yuuri shook his head, and started to respond. “No, I—”

“ _ Ugh _ , you’re an  _ idiot _ . Look, you’re not gonna find Victor by stumbling around the wilderness half blind and  _ completely _ unprepared. You should actually take the time to think about where he might be. And given the way you’re snorting like a pig, you might want to rest while you do it, since you’re  _ clearly _ not even  _ remotely _ ready to stumble around. You go off like this, you’ll die in a day and you’d deserve it for being an idiot.”

And once, Yuuri probably would have been taken in by the angry tone and flashing eyes. Now, he heard what was being said. He smiled.

“You’re probably right. And if nothing else, I should explain the situation to my family.”

Yuri snorted and muttered something under his breath about not making it before dark if he continued to be outpaced by snails, but didn’t argue. They began walking in that direction, and a comfortable silence settled over them once more.

-

They did indeed make it before dark, but they had cut it fairly close. Toshiya let them in with raised eyebrows and a frown of concern for Yuuri. Hiroko took one look at them and ordered them both to rest, she’d bring them some food in a moment, don’t even think about trying to get up, Yuuri.

Yuri was clearly a bit lost, though not uncomfortable. Mari came to chat with him in her easy way until he relaxed—which, for him, seemed to involve seething and hissed curses.

Yuuri basked in being home with his family.

That night, Yuuri explained what had happened and his plan to his family. They all understood, though Hiroko was adamant that Yuuri wasn’t going anywhere until he recovered to her satisfaction.

He hesitated. He wanted to go find Victor now, wanted to kiss him and bring him home and never let him go. He also knew that she was right—just getting here had been more challenging than he was expecting. Every day counted in the search, but he wouldn’t find Victor if he collapsed on the way. He nodded.

Mari spoke up. “Where exactly do you plan on searching?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe around the tower first?”

Yuri snorted, and Toshiya frowned. “Yuuri, you have to do this logically, otherwise you won’t find him.” Yuuri frowned, but Mari and his mother were nodding. “How about this—when you’ve recovered, you go back to town. Buy a map and some supplies. Ask around—your Victor must be noticeable with hair like that, and they must have heard him sing. They’ll know his face, and know if he’s been seen.”

Privately, Yuuri wasn’t sure. So far as he could tell, people had never gotten close enough to really see his face. But he did need supplies, more than they would have to spare here. He nodded. “Alright—recovery and preparation tomorrow. Then, after I’ve got supplies, I’ll come back and start planning.”

His mother stood. “Good. Now get some rest, Yuuri. It’s late, and you need to get better.” She shooed everyone else out of the room. “Sleep well.”

He slept, and dreamt of Victor.

-

The next morning, he explained the plan to Yuri over breakfast. Predictably, he rolled his eyes and said it would have been smarter to do this yesterday, but agreed it was the best idea they had. Plus, he added, he needed to get back to his grandfather, since he couldn’t waste all his time with a loser like Yuuri.

They left immediately after breakfast, not including the time it took Yuuri to convince his mother that if he could make the trip yesterday, he could make it today as well. She took some convincing, but he pointed out that after sleeping in his own room, with his mother’s cooking and the comfort of his own home, he felt better than he had yesterday.

They did, in fact, make better time than they had the day before, and arrived to the market about midmorning. Yuuri began scanning the marketplace, teeming with people and a riot of colors.

“Yuri, where can we get maps?” Yuri thought for a bit. “There’s perverted Christophe Giacometti. He’s the local scribe, and his husband is cartographer. His maps are probably better than anything else you’ll find around here, even if Chris is a creep. He’s towards the western end of the market, basically the opposite direction from Phichit, so we should head that way.”

“Let’s go there, then. We can ask about Victor on the way.” They began walking, periodically stopping to ask people if they had seen or heard Victor Nikiforov, but no one had heard anything. They didn’t even know he had left the tower, though all of them said they loved Victor, and loved it when he sang for them. Yuuri found himself thinking,  _ so this is what he meant  _ more than once.

As they made it towards the western edge, Yuuri asked, “Where is Christophe Giacometti? Around here?” He looked around.

Yuri jerked his head to the left.

“ _ Hello _ , handsome,” purred the man when they approached. “Please, call me Chris. Can I interest you in something?  _ Anything _ at all?”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” grumbled Yuri before Yuuri had a chance to respond. Chris only laughed and said, “You’ll understand when you’re older, little Yura. Now,” he turned back to Yuuri, sounding slightly less suggestive and slightly more business-like, “how can I help you?”

“Do you—” he and Yuri started at the same time. They looked at each other, and Yuri rolled his eyes and made an exaggerated go-ahead gesture. He looked like it physically hurt him to be polite.

“Do you know anything about Victor Nikiforov?” continued Yuuri.

Chris’ eyes sharpened, and he stood a little straighter. “Victor the Singer?” Yuuri nodded. “I know where he’s not—the tower. Hasn’t been for the last week.”

He turned to Yuri. “You know the old man that always comes through and hangs around the tower right before Victor’s singing?” Yuri nodded. “He was here a few days ago. Bought one of my maps.”

“What did he look like?” demanded Yuuri, suddenly frantic. Chris shrugged. “Grey hair, more or less to his shoulder, but with a bald spot. Kind of a square jaw. Not one for smiling much, and a gruff voice.”

_ Yakov _ , he thought.  _ It must be. _

“What area did he buy a map for?”

Chris looked at him intently before answering. “There’s a small village between here and the next town. It’s relatively close by, but not many people from around here travel in that direction, so it’s not very well known. I’ve been there a few times, passing through to the next town with my husband, and we charted it out. The map he bought is for the village and the surrounding area—forest, mountains, the like.”

“Do you have another copy? Or—can you make one?” Chris was already nodding. “We keep master copies of all our maps. Come back in a few hours, I can sell you a copy. Though we do good work, my husband and I. It won’t be cheap.”

Yuuri nodded. “That’s fine,” he said, ignoring Yuri’s side-eye.

They debated continuing for supplies while they waited, but ultimately decided that until they actually knew where they were going there wasn’t much point. Yuuri hated the waiting, but suffered through, knowing there wasn’t much else he could do. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Yuri seemed to be as impatient as he was.

Eventually, it was time to head back. Chris ginned when he saw them coming.

“Ah, good. Perfect timing. It’ll be 50 ruyen.” Yuri scoffed and tried to bargain, but Yuuri was already paying. Chris looked at Yuri with a raised eyebrow as he accepted the money. “I did tell you it wouldn’t be cheap. Besides, this isn’t an area where haggling would help. For one thing, you’re  _ clearly _ desperate, and I know no one else around here has this map. Makes for bad bargaining. For another, this is a take it or leave it shop, honey.”

Yuuri tuned them out as he unrolled the map, then choked. Yuri and Chris turned to look at him.

“So close…” he whispered. Yuri glared at him.

“Hey, idiot, don’t just stand there. What? Why are you making noises like you’re dying?” he jostled Yuuri, trying to get a good look at the map.

Yuuri pointed to an area on the map that highlighted some low mountains and pools of water. “This area? This is where my home is. We passed that forest yesterday, and this morning. Wherever Victor is, he’s close.”

They absorbed that. Then Yuri snorted and said, “Guess it’s just as well we didn’t start buying supplies yet. Let’s head back. It must be true that fools are lucky—you can start searching even sooner than you thought. Tough luck for the old man, though,” he said, snickering. Yuuri nodded, too caught up in his good fortune to respond. He turned away to head back home.

“Good luck!” called Chris. He winked as they left. “And feel free to come back if you need anything else! Another map, a wedding contract…Who knows—I might even give you a discount as a gift!” Yuuri nodded vaguely, still staring at the map.

-

Based on their new information, Yuuri headed back home by himself. At the edge of town, he thanked Yuri for everything. It just seemed to make him angrier. “You tell that airhead he’s a moron! And I didn’t help you, I just made sure you didn’t die. Ugh, you’re such a loser. Go away and stop needing me.” He stomped away, muttering under his breath.

Yuuri snorted, watching him go.  _ I wonder if he’ll grow out of that _ , he mused as he began walking out of the town.

He looked ahead at the road home. He’d be able see Victor again soon.

-

He made it home by midafternoon, and entered quickly, excited to tell his family the good news. Everyone was doing whatever needed doing, though, so there was no one there to greet him. He smiled, and called out, “I’m home,” as he took off his shoes. His dad came out.

“Ah, Yuuri! Good, you’re back. Listen, we have a guest tonight. He’s in the dining room. Can you help Mari get him settled? I know you’re in a rush, but…”

Yuuri nodded. “It’s fine, I can help.” His news could wait.

He went to the dining room and froze. There, sitting by the dog and her newborn puppies and chatting with his sister, was Victor.

“Victor,” he breathed as he rushed to him.

Victor turned to look, gasped “Yuuri!” and stumbled his way up to meet him. They met somewhere in the middle, crashing into each other and holding on for dear life.

Somewhere off to the side, Yuuri heard his sister say, “Huh. Mom, Dad—I don’t think we need to worry about Yuuri going off to search for Victor anymore.”

He pulled back to look at Victor, not letting go even for a moment. “You’re here. How are you here?”

“Yakov helped. He—he wasn’t happy at first, but when he saw how upset I was…”

Hiroko and Toshiya had come in. “Ah! I didn’t know you were Yuuri’s Vicchan,” his mother said. “It must be the hair.”

“She’s right—it’s short now,” asked Yuuri. He reached up one hand to run it through Victor’s hair. It was cut to the nape of his neck, though his bangs still fell over his face a bit.

“Yakov cut it, up at the tower. He said that it was too noticeable and too troublesome. He cut it off, and said if I needed money I could sell it to wig-makers. I think he was joking, though.” They disentangled themselves, though they kept their fingers laced. “He had me climb down using the rope—you’re so strong, Yuuri, doing that every day!—then came down himself. But you weren’t there anymore, so I had to find you. You’re not hurt, right? And what are these?” he pushed on the glasses lightly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Yuuri said. Mari humphed. “I was only a little banged up,” he amended. “They’re glasses—they help me see. The fall—” He saw Victor’s face and stopped. “I’m fine. But still—how did you get  _ here _ ?”

“Yakov, again. He bought the map and told me where to go after I told him what you’d told me about your home. I didn’t realize this was it, though, or I would have introduced myself to your parents properly.”

And with that, Yuuri finally remembered himself and turned to face his family, who were all grinning. “Mom, Dad, Mari—this is Victor.” They laughed. Mari said, “Yes, we had figured that out.” He ignored her. “Victor, this is my family.”

Victor smiled at them. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” And at Hiroko, “And thank you for feeding me. Your cooking really is delicious.” She beamed at him.

“Let’s get you some more, then. I’ll make you something nice and warm this time.” She walked off happily, and with that, the spell was broken. Mari and Toshiya left to continue the housework, Mari calling, “I trust you can get him settled in by yourself,” over her shoulder.

Alone, they looked at each other.

“Hello, Yuuri,” whispered Victor.

“Hello, Victor.”

“Yuuri, will you sing something for me?”

Yuuri smiled at him. “Every day for the rest of our lives, if you like.”

-

_ And they lived happily ever after. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful @hmg621, who edited it, made it better, and put up with my wifflewaffle.


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